everyday

i walk to the tracks

i wait for the train to go by

not a passenger train

a freight train

right before the blue hour

i stand in the shadow of the old mill

on one side

with heavy vines growing out it’s roof

a hued forest on the…

how do people walk away and stay

it is like checking out of hotel

and leaving luggage behind in the room

or maybe

standing in the kitchen

but living in the tv

because real life is too hard to bear

or standing in a room

and not being alone

and…

i traveled

to the mountains yesterday

there were dark clouds

immersed in blue sky

i felt in the stunning hues

a comfortable kind of melancholy

a contradiction

somehow

i don’t know why

a lonely kind of solitude

i guess it is expectation

in an impossible world

of what else

could…

to say goodbye

and to never know

if i will see you again

it is much like falling off a cliff

landing so very low

and yet to never know

what might have been

a dream that ends

the energy settles

like dust

and all the love goes

up in smoke

the fire never stoked

we know

what happens

when we pick a rose

we let it go

it then withers and dies

a beautiful flower goes

into another spring

and leaves her seeds

scattered on the ground

where words have fallen

yet never made a sound

~patty

art by pancrace bessa (paris 1772–1835 ecouen ) “a rosebush” oil on canvas

i am the curator

of my happiness

you are the maker

of your happiness

if by chance we meet

then we share

our own unique

places of joy

with each other

and the world

for each other

by each other

if by chance we fall in love

with the distinctive

bliss of one another

believe me

it is not

with an imaginary partner

but a real one

just as we are

it is a kind of respect

a memorization of a boundary

a marked trail through a forest

and yet it has the intrigue

of visiting a foreign land

and wanting to stay

longer than a day

we call it love

i call it peace

an invisible sanctuary

a gaze

a word

a touch

a foreign language

no one else knows

but us

~ patty

art- banksy

i feel everything has changed

we are never going back

life will cease

to ever really arrive

never again

will we feel safe

there will be disasters

there will be sickness

there will be poverty

suffering and fear

but the worst part

is the people who led us here

we…

oh we are so very fragile

are we not like the caterpillars

near the milkweed

crawling through the dirt

intrinsically

do they know

do we know

in the end

their fates

our fates

a metamorphosis

into glorious butterflies

we too are slivers of hope

believers who could

who should

yet…

she hid behind the promises

the excuses

the stories

that were boxed away

unfinished

there was always a reason

that life was incomplete

and suddenly

time is gone

like blowing out a match

and with a flick of the wrist

tossing it into a cup

of unfinished tea

as if it is ordinary

expected

to give it all away

as if life is a diary

full of perfect days

the peak of leaves

as green transitions into red

the lonely hearts

that beat

yet feel unusually dead

and without a pause

someone tosses away the key

tell me

what happens to all the words

unwritten

unsaid

breathed and not lived

- patty

art- “fall painting” by nika doust